I had fixed a leaking sink.
I had retrieved items from tall grocery shelves at the request of two shoppers. I had easily opened plastic produce bags to put my apples in one and tomatoes in another.
How did I do those incredible things?
The sink repair was due to experience and luck. Success requires good luck.
I grabbed the items from the tallest shelf because of genetics. I’m a tall drink of water.
Photo by Al Batt
I opened one grocery store produce bag by rubbing the bag’s top edge between my palms rapidly enough to generate enough friction to separate the plastic layers.
To add diversity to my shopping experience, I grasped the top edge of the second bag with my thumb on one side and my index finger on the other, then slid one digit up and the other down while still pinching the bag. This allowed me to peel the sides apart. I should bring a dog with me so I could recycle the produce bags by picking up after it.
I brought my best to those moments, and the amazing thing was I did it without the use of a single instruction video or any duct tape.
Duct tape is something I’ve used for everything except ductwork. People have made clothes out of duct tape. I’ve seen coolers that were more duct tape than styrofoam. Car fenders are held in place by duct tape. I used to do a TV show. On one, in an attempt at jocularity, my wife put duct tape over my mouth to stifle me. She then ripped the tape off. It was funny to her. My screams were so high-pitched that they weren’t audible to the human ear. It left me with lips as red as Bozo the Clown’s nose. I used all the chapstick I could find.
But that was then, this is now.
The poet William Cowper wrote, “I am monarch of all I survey.”
Cowper died in 1800, so there was an opening for the monarch position.
An exalted perch is never permanent. You jump out of bed after getting the best night’s sleep of your life and immediately stub your toe. Yet, I thought I was monarch of all I surveyed.
Proverbs says, “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.”
A great challenge presented itself.
I girded my loins — preparing myself physically and mentally for the difficult confrontation. I did battle with an ancient all-powerful foe that had risen against me.
The struggle began at a customer appreciation event held by a local business.
My opponent was a mustard packet, but it could have easily been its cousin, the ketchup packet. A condiment packet is a small, single-serving plastic or foil pouch to be torn open for use on a meal. A friend carries a small Swiss Army knife that includes scissors, which makes opening a packet a snap.
Most of us don’t bring a pair of scissors to the battlefield.
I hope for good things when I have a showdown with a single-serve condiment, a slippery devil with or without a covering of grease.
I grabbed a small mustard packet. I looked for a small notch on the side to start the tear, but I don’t believe they all have one. It’s genetics, I suppose.
I threatened to pierce the packet with an ink pen, but I could hear my mother saying, “You could put someone’s eye out.”
I pursued the mustard as if it were gold. I gnawed on the packet, letting my uncivilized side show.
I don’t know whether to blame Big Mustard or Big Ketchup, but I don’t fight the battle alone. I see others with their uniforms decorated with mustard or ketchup stains. Brave people who fought and lost.
I have tamed the beast by tearing the packet from the top to the bottom the length of the packet, not across. I hold the packet upright, pinching the top edge tightly with fingers from both hands. I tear down the side edge to create a trough. I tear slowly to prevent splattering.
Nothing worked this time.
What could I do?
I dropped the mustard packet on the floor and stomped on it.
We do what we must do to survive.
Leave a Reply